Ill tell you the tale of Lily Whitcombe, a petite woman who spent most of her life as a tiny burst of sunshine. She was barely five foot, with a waist that seemed to fit in a thimble, bright green eyes that never stopped sparkling, and a laugh that could set a room alight. Men of every age took notice of her; theres a certain charm about a woman so small that you feel the urge to tuck her in your arms, like a little pony youd keep close to your heart.
Lily had a gift a voice that sat solidly in the mezzosoprano range. She sang whenever and wherever she could. By day she worked as a lab technician at a metalworking plant in Manchester, but her true element was always music. She joined every choir and vocal club she could find, gradually moving from timid appearances on modest stages to bolder performances. Her whole soul longed for art, and it hurt her when she couldnt get enough of it.
She never rushed into marriage, nor did she entertain thoughts of children. Lily saw those responsibilities as timeeaters that would steal the moments she needed for singing and simply enjoying life. She would voice these thoughts over tea with her married friends, who would nod knowingly before heading off on yet another round of maternity leave. Second child, third theyd joke, while Lily stayed steadfastly focused on her craft.
Then, as fate would have it, Lily began to cross paths with the head of her department, a man named Anthony Clarke. She often delivered lab reports to him, but a strict secretary named Zoe kept the door to his office guarded. Whenever Lily entered the hallway, Zoe would snatch the papers, thank her politely and say, Miss, youre excused. Ill pass everything on to Mr Clarke. No need to wait.
Because of Zoes vigilance, Lily never actually met Anthony. One day Zoe fell ill, and Lily, seeing no obstacle, knocked gently on the office door and peered inside. At the far end of a long table sat Anthony himself.
Come in, miss. What do you need? he asked.
Just the test reports, Lily muttered.
Are you new here? he pressed.
No, Ive been at this plant for over five years, Lily replied.
He smiled thinly, I hadnt noticed. Shame.
They chatted, laughed a little, and Lily went back to her bench. From then on she handed her reports directly to Anthonys desk. Zoe, once recovered, would turn away dramatically whenever Lily appeared, preferring instead to water the potted geraniums on the windowsill and ignore her.
Lily was twentyseven at the time, and a brief workplace romance blossomed. It was brief because Anthony, a respectable man, didnt want to be the scandalous headline in the local paper. He suggested they marry straight away. Lily, ever the practical one, laughed it off. Why add more worries? She was content with a relationship that didnt tie her down.
Anthony was taken aback by Lilys refusal; most women in her place would have chased after him. He gave her space to think, while the other women in the canteen whispered, Hes after you, Lily! Dont turn him down! Youll be alone forever! Eventually, she gave in.
The wedding was a grand affair. In a simple dress, veil and childsize shoes, Lily looked like a delicate doll, and Anthony beamed with pride. Lily, however, kept her emotions guarded, preserving her energy for singing and performances rather than for husbandly devotion.
After a short honeymoon, Lily set off on regional tours community centres, holiday resorts, schools. Anthony, ever the supportive husband, asked only one thing:
Lily, could you make something for dinner and iron my shirt, please?
She snapped, Tom, Im in a hurry! and dashed off. He kissed her nose, chuckling, Sorry love, Im just pestering you. Go on, sing! He repeated this routine countless times.
Over time Anthony learned to order readymade meals, wash his own shirts, and even fry an egg. He didnt want to bog Lily down with chores; she was his artistic muse, not his housekeeper.
Eventually Lily left the plant to pursue her vocal career fulltime, travelling across the county for concerts. Anthony grew accustomed to the idea of a creative wife who didnt fuss over the hearth.
One afternoon, while Anthony was in his office, his secretary Zoe offered him a tray of cherryfilled scones.
Thanks, Zoe, he said, smile weary, I do love a good cherry scone.
She then asked, Should I stitch a button on your jacket? It looks about to pop off.
He replied, Zoe, my wife has her hands full with rehearsals. Im on my own here.
She muttered to herself, She sings, Im the wolf howling at the moon, and continued to bring him broth in a thermos, a quick sandwich, and more cherry scones. Though Anthony appreciated her attentiveness, his loyalty to Lily never wavered.
Four years into their marriage, the couple remained just the two of them. Lily never spoke of children. Then, one day, Lilys figure softened a bit, and she asked Anthony to stock up on pickled cucumbers and stewed apples, a hint that a stork might be on its way.
Anthony was over the moon at the thought of a baby. Lily, however, visited a doctor and asked for an abortion. The doctor told her it was too late and urged her to bring a healthy child into the world. Unaware of this, Anthony began scouring shops for the best pram and cot, checking prices in pounds.
When the news finally reached Anthony, he burst with joy, but Lily was far from thrilled. She even tried to terminate the pregnancy, but the doctor said it was impossible. She kept the secret to herself.
Zoe, hearing the news, sighed and handed in her resignation, joking, Im out, Anthony Ive run out of cherries for my scones.
A middleaged secretary named Tina took over. She knew every gossip in the plant and warned Anthony, Youve lost a good one, Anthony! Zoe loved you like no one else.
Anthony brushed her off, Carry on, Tina. Focus on the work.
Soon Lily gave birth to a baby girl. The midwife, delighted, asked, What shall we call her?
Nothing! Lily snapped.
Anthony rushed to the maternity ward with a bouquet, but Lily stayed in her bed, sobbing. The other new mothers tried to comfort her.
Why are you crying? they asked.
This child isnt mine, Lily said, her voice raw.
The women exchanged looks and started sharing their own stories a girl whod had a lovers baby and feared her husband, a 36yearold whod had a son with a former employer, a mother whose husband had left and might return, and another with a darkskinned boy named Taras.
Lily turned away, listening to the chatter, thinking, If only I could be as happy as they seem.
A nurse handed her a bunch of roses from her husband, who was pacing nervously outside. Lily didnt take them; the nurse set them on the bedside table.
A few weeks later, Anthony was sent on a twoweek assignment to a new site. He returned, racing home to his wife and daughter, dreaming of the little girl hed never seen. Instead he found Lily alone, humming over a pile of sheet music.
Lily, wheres our daughter? he asked, bewildered.
Anthony, sit down. I I signed the consent to give up the child, she said without meeting his eyes.
Youre mad! Thats our blood! How could you? he shouted, fury blazing.
He grabbed the music sheets, tore them to shreds, and hurled the pieces at her face, Heres your music, you fool!
Lily had never seen Anthony like that. She feared for her life.
Anthony, his anger drained, grabbed a suitcase, stuffed his coat inside, slammed the door and walked out, not knowing where to go. The city felt cold and empty, echoing his mothers words: A bad wife is worse than a storm; a storm traps you in, a bad wife drives you out.
He roamed the streets, shouting, People! Wheres love gone? It must be waiting for me somewhere! Nobody stopped; everyone hurried on.
After a night on a friends couch, Anthony returned to work and asked the new secretary, Tamara, could you give me Zoes number? I need to call her about something.
She handed him a slip, smirking, We know what youre after, Anthony.
He entered his office, shut the door tight, aware of the nosy eyes outside.
When Lily finally recovered from the shock, she didnt look for Anthony. Instead she threw herself back into singing, accepting an invitation to perform at a holiday resort. She repaired the torn scores and sang, each note a balm to her wounded heart. Audiences clapped, asked for encores, and tossed flowers onto the stage. She toured the countryside, her voice soaring like a free bird.
Years slipped by. Lily left the concert circuit and became a vocal coach. She never earned a formal music degree, but her experience was enough to teach youngsters. One day a colleague asked, Lily, a girl has been brought to me. She seems talented. Could you audition her?
Bring her in, Lily replied.
A few minutes later, the door opened and in walked Anthony with two girls, one about ten and the other twelve. He guided the younger to a chair, Sit, little one. He turned to the older and, upon seeing Lily, blurted, Heavens, why did I end up with you as a tutor?
Lily, taken aback, tried to calm him, Take it easy, Tom. Lets hear your daughter sing.
The younger girl began to sing, a voice that reminded Lily of herself as a child bright, petite, with a laugh like hers. After the song, Lily asked, How old are you, dear?
Im thirteen. Im Kelsey, the girl answered proudly.
Youve got talent! Feel free to go, and bring your dad back for the next lesson, Lily said.
Anthony entered, smiling, Tom, you have a gifted daughter. I can recommend a good tutor if Im not the right fit. Youre married, arent you? Hows life?
Married and happy. My wife is Zoe, my former secretary. We raise my daughter Kelsey together with our other girl, Martha, he said, puffed up with pride.
What? The daughter I gave birth to? Lily whispered, stunned.
You merely gave birth to her, Anthony retorted, turning to leave. Goodbye, tutor!
From the hallway came the chorus of the other girls, Lets go meet Mum from work! Lily sat, her mind a whirl. She had just spoken to her own child.
Thirteen years later, Lily, still a bit unsteady, trudged home after a long day. Before she could even open her flats door, her beloved cat, a ginger tabby named Melody, leapt onto her foot, purring loudly. He knew shed always bring him a treat.
She shooed him away, Not now, you silly cat. The cat trotted to his bowl, as if to say, Im hungry, love.
She thought, What have I got? A cat that never speaks, no husband, no children, an empty flat and a cold bed. Perhaps I sang the wrong tune in my life.
If only she could turn back the clock, but summer never comes twice a year.
Lily replayed the melody of her life note by note, a sad ballad of castles built in the air and a past she could not forget. Sitting in her armchair, wrapped in a familiar blanket, she recalled the old fable about the grasshopper: Did you sing all day? Thats the problem
